


If I told you what I was

by PencilofAwesomeness



Series: Finding Home [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Happy Ending, Hugs, I promise, I so sorry, Minor Character Death, Remember Shiro was a gladiator, Songfic, Team as Family, but not really, imagine dragons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 04:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11592810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PencilofAwesomeness/pseuds/PencilofAwesomeness
Summary: The paladins are harshly reminded that Shiro was not the same man he once was. He was a gladiator; he was Champion. And that doesn't go away.When Shiro kills living adversaries in a fist fight, the paladins are left to reflect what kind of man Shiro has become.Can be read as a stand-alone.





	If I told you what I was

**Author's Note:**

> The title was accidentally subconsciously inspired by StrawBella's video on YouTube of the same title, so go check it out!
> 
> I've been wanting to explore this aspect of Shiro for a while. You can see that his fighting style very much resembles that of a gladiator, and he WAS Champion for a year. They've mostly been fighting drones, and yes, they've all blown up ships, but there is something different about watching some individual get killed right in front on you. Anyways, this is just what I came up with in order to address the fact that Shiro, unlike the other paladins, definitely knows what it's like to have blood on his hands--and even though the others know that Shiro was a gladiator... Well, seeing is a different story.
> 
> To those of you that have not read Finding Home, fear not! This really has nothing to do with it, except for a brief scene with Black, and the fact that Shiro does remember everything from the past year.

"Do you really think a monster like you could be a Voltron paladin?" - Sendak, "Crystal Venom"

* * *

 

Just because Zarkon was dead, that didn’t mean that evil wasn’t still out there. The Paladins of Voltron learned this the hard way.

Lance fired off a few warning shots at the angry pirates, the energy-bullets of his blaster glancing off dangerously close to their ugly faces, causing them to falter in their step. Perfect.

The group known infamously as the ‘Vindicators’ were vile and ruthless and just plain _rude._ The equivalent of space-pirates had been ravaging planets just trying to get back on their own two feet after the Galra fell away, taking their resources and leaving anyone who tried to stop them with a bullet between the eyes or a knife to the throat. That someone would take advantage of what should have been a newly peaceful time was positively despicable.

“Lance! Hunk! We could really use some cover fire over here!” Shiro ground out through the comms. He could hear a string of choice-words that his mother would scrub his tongue with soap for spill out of Pidge’s mouth, as she and Shiro dived for cover. Dutifully, Lance fired down the hallway, peppering the oncoming Vindicators’ feet before they converged on the retrieval-team’s location.

The Paladins had received a distress call from Jyord, a planet that had freshly joined the Voltron Alliance, when the Vindicators attacked their port and stole several of their energy capsules necessary for production in their major cities. Cue the paladins, ready to help, on board the enemy ship to kindly retrieve Jyord’s capsules and getting shot at for their trouble.

“Incoming!” Keith’s barked warning sent Lance spinning around, blaster at the ready. Sure enough, two brutes came barreling towards him. One reminded him distantly of a brontosaurus, except bipedal with pointy teeth, and the other looked like an angry four-armed toad. Lance mentally named them ‘Dumb’ and ‘Dumber’ respectively.

He fired at the walls, grateful that the shots had a habit of ricocheting off of the metal hulls and being otherwise chaotic. For a moment, Lance sardonically missed the Galran drones, just because they were all the same, and, well, _shootable._

Dumb the Dinosaur roared incoherently, bowing his head and charging for Lance will little consideration to the cover fire that was supposed to stop him. Yelping, Lance rolled to the side, missing the one-man-stampede narrowly while taking a shot at his ankles.

He heard a discharge behind him, and threw up his shield just Dumber hacked a slimy _acid spitball_ at him, and Lance was insanely grateful that their holo-shields were sturdy, because he had the distinct feeling that that would leave _quite_ the stain.

Lance could hear Dumb turn around like a bull in a china shop chasing a matador (which was _him,_ in this scenario) while Dumber pulled out some wicked looking green swords that Lance wasn’t keen on seeing up close. “Uh, guys? I could really use a hand right now…”

“I’m a little—” There was a barrage of lasers and a muffled yell. “—busy right now…” Hunk replied nervously from his station down the hall.

“I can be there in five—” Keith cursed as something went _bang_ on his line. “—thirty ticks.”

There were times where five of them weren’t nearly enough to cover all of the points. This was one of those times. Hunk and Lance were bookending the main hall, with Keith on guard near the front control deck, while Shiro was a preoccupied Pidge’s (who was retrieving said-energy capsules) last line of defense. All of which currently left Lance very much on his own.

Dumb and Dumber converged on him, forcing Lance to make a quick jet-pack-assisted vault straight over Dumb’s scaly back. Which, of course, didn’t please dinosaur-man too much, causing the pirate to swipe at the paladin with a dully clawed fist. “You insolent pest!”

“Hasn’t your mother ever taught you manners?” Lance shot back (it wasn’t one of his best comebacks, but he was feeling a little pressured here) as he ducked underneath the fist and rolled backwards to give him more space to shoot. The supreme disadvantage of bringing a gun to a fist fight, he supposed.

“You paladins think yourselves better than us!” the toad sneered. “We survive, which is saying more than those spineless creatures you protect!”

“Well, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re just bulli— _ack!_ ” Lance yelped as two nasty looking swords came slashing for his neck, narrowly avoiding the first but not missing the second as much as he would have hoped, hissing as the blade skimmed his less-than-armored side. (Really, who designed these things, again?)

Momentarily taken aback by the sharp _sting_ of the cut, Lance wasn’t prepared to block or avoid Dumb’s third charge, and got rammed backwards for his trouble.

Black spots danced across Lance’s field of vision as his back slammed against the wall, knocking the breath out of him. He tried to curl his fingers around the trigger, but his bayard was currently skittering down the hallway. The large dinosaur-brute grasped his throat with his oversized hand, pinning him to the wall.

 _No, no, no, no!_ Lance squirmed, panic rising in his squished throat like bile, as the beady-eyed pirate took his friend’s cutlass in his hand, ready to make a Blue-Paladin-shish-kabob. No, it couldn’t end like this! He was too pretty to die, he needed—

There was a familiar whine and a _swoosh_ , and Lance never thought he’d be happier to hear the sound of Shiro’s beautiful, beautiful Galra-made ass-kicking arm. Angered by this, the brute shoved at Lance’s chest and neck harder, and his heart skipped a beat or three as his vision swam. Faintly, he could hear Blue’s alarm, but the roaring of blood in his ears was louder.

Suddenly, there was a gurgling sound and a choke, and Lance fell to the ground and sucked in a breath. A foul stench, like rotting copper, snaked its way into Lance’s throat, and as the Blue Paladin peeled himself off of the ground, there was something wet beneath.

Lance, remembering the situation now that there was enough oxygen to his brain, yanked open his eyes and readied himself to re-engage. But there was nobody left to attack him.

The still and empty eyes of the dinosaur-like pirate were stretched and lifeless, and his neck rolled back limply in a bone-defying way. Violet poured down his chest, oozing out of a wound at the base of his neck. Steel fingers slid their way back through the pirate’s body, letting the dead weight crash to the ground.

For a moment, the dim lighting of the ship shrouded Shiro, as the man stood over Lance with a face of stone, the sticky blood that covered his arm glowing ominously. Behind him, the gooey body of the other pirate lay still.

Lance’s voice caught in his throat, the cold gray eyes of the Black Paladin suddenly fixed on him. There was movement, and he flinched backwards, groping for the bayard that he was very aware that he didn’t have.

“Hey, Lance, it’s okay now.” Shiro stretched his flesh arm—not the weapon—towards him, palm open. Right, right. Shiro was helping him up. Shiro saved his life.

He took the hand and got pulled to his feet. “Heh, that was close,” Lance quipped, albeit shakily.

Shiro handed him his bayard; there was a splash of blood on it that Lance was acutely aware of but keen on ignoring. The bodies—the dead, _killed,_ bodies—were still on the floor around him. Shiro had killed them with his bare hands.

Shiro saved his life.

“Pidge is done.” Lance almost didn’t register Shiro’s words, but managed to tune into them last second. “The pods with the capsules are being guided back to Jyord by Keith.”

They were done; they did it; they could _leave._ “Great,” Lance responded, lacking the appropriate enthusiasm.

As the paladins headed back to the Castle, Lance made a beeline for the showers. He needed to bathe—he needed this stench off of him.

He needed the image of Shiro with his arm sticking straight through another living being’s throat, whilst remaining perfectly impassive, out of his head.

* * *

 _"If I told you what I was,_  
_Would you turn your back on me?..."_

* * *

 

Pidge shook the last loose water droplets from her hair as she pulled on her casual wear and exited into the hallway. There was much to be said about the mission they just underwent, but there was also precious little. They returned the energy capsules. Mission accomplished.

She just wished that she hadn’t been elbow-deep in wiring during the ordeal—maybe then, they wouldn’t have become so overrun, and _that_ wouldn’t have happened the way it did.

The worse thing about an open comm were the sounds of battle out of reach, the sound of—

 _No._ She wouldn’t think about it.

Pidge liked to think that she was tough, and that this doesn’t bother her, but thinking about all that went down on that ship made her stomachs do flips—in the bad way. And— _stop thinking about it Pidge,_ she berated herself. She needed to clear her head, and forget this mess that really shouldn’t even be that much of a problem. They did their job; end of story.

Out of habit, she headed to the workspace that she and Hunk had set up in the Green Lion’s hangar. Even though it was her primary haunt, the makeshift lab was the pooled together effort of the entirety of Team Voltron, so it wasn’t that surprising when it appeared that someone else was in there when she arrived.

Pidge _was_ surprised, however, to find that that someone was Shiro.

Being a non-techy-person (as Lance would put it), nor someone who was fond of hovering over people’s shoulders (i.e. _Lance_ ), Shiro was rarely seen in the workshop area unless it was a team-gathering, him telling Pidge to go to bed, or when he needed to— _Oh._

Shiro was cloistered in the corner, twisted in a weird way to bend over his arm. A few rags were on the table, one in his hand, covered in green and violet goop. Oh. Right. The blood and guts.

Normally, Pidge would fuss at Shiro and his usual obstinacy for trying to do maintenance alone. (His arm was one of those few sore spots that Shiro wasn’t really comfortable discussing with, well, anyone.) But somehow, Pidge couldn’t find it in her to be upset this time, because dealing with _that_ was not on her list of fun activities. The sight of Shiro covered in the mix of foreign blood… It was unsettling, to say the least.

He didn’t look up until Pidge carefully moved herself closer, edging around any trace of the grime. Shiro looked rather placid, actually, for someone who was wiping the blood from their hands. (Ew, no, no, don’t put it that way.) “Oh, hey Pidge,” he greeted. “Is there…anything you need?”

“Uh, no.” Pidge tore her gaze away from the still grimy arm, and made eye contact. Except this time, his steely gray eyes didn’t make things much better. She settled her gaze on the tool kit he had with him instead. “I was just walking by and noticed that you were, uh…” Damnit, why was this so awkward? Pidge had done maintenance on Shiro’s arm before, and as stiff as he was about it, it was never _her_ that had a problem! It was the smell, she decided. Pidge gestured lamely to the arm. “Need any help?”

Shiro watched her for a moment, and Pidge tried not to squirm under his gaze. Had it always been that intense? “Yeah, thanks,” he said finally. “I, uh, think that something might be in between the plating…”

Normally, Pidge would have celebrated the fact that she hardly had to force him to admit his problems, but she couldn’t muster the enthusiasm. She sat down on the opposite side of him, grabbing a thin needle hook. Shiro stretched the arm outward, face up, and Pidge gingerly situated it in the position she needed it to be, not touching it more than she had to.

_Pidge reached in and yanked the central wiring out of the control box, finally disengaging the locks by way of lack of power. Now that the cargo bay wasn’t sealed, she just needed to cross the wires to the access port so that she can rip through their security protocols and seize control of the capsules._

_There was a yell behind her—a pirate had made it past their little barricade and straight to her. Pidge flinched, body going rigid, and her brain determined that she couldn’t move out fast enough to avoid the oncoming weapon._

_A thud resounded and the blow never came. Pidge pried open her eyes and looked back. Her mistake. The one-armed pirate staggered backwards, fleeing the scene. Shiro watched him run coldly, arm still poised at the ready._

_The pirate’s other arm was on the floor just behind her._

Pidge shook the memory from her head. She knew _exactly_ what Shiro’s arm was capable of, but she had always known. Galra drones weren’t much different to cut. Taking the small pick, she reached in the crevice made by the metal plates in Shiro’s arm and carefully scraped the organic material out of it. This was simply another routine clean-up; nothing more, nothing less.

She really didn’t know why she was so hyper-focused on the blood—on the bodies they left behind. The paladins had killed before—they had killed plenty. Countless blown Galra ships aside, Pidge herself had saw Haxus get dropped to his death. It was nothing new. It was just part of their war.

It had to be done. Shiro knew that. Pidge knew that. Her stomach didn’t seem to get the memo.

As she removed the last of the blood from the joints, Pidge had to keep her gag reflex under control. She was fine. Really. “That’s it, I think,” she announced, standing up. Pidge narrowly missed brushing up against a sullied rag.

“Careful,” Shiro warned. “Hrendian blood stains.” For a second, she thought he was kidding—but Shiro looked dead serious. This was something he knew from experience. Pidge carefully pushed the implications of that away from her forethought.

“Wouldn’t want that,” she replied. Maybe she needed another shower…

“Thanks,” he added as she was moving to leave. Because Shiro was the kind of guy that thanked people—this was still _Shiro._ Who could clean the blood off of his hands without batting an eye.

Pidge managed a small smile. “Don’t mention it.” She really didn’t need the reminder.

* * *

 _"...And if I seem dangerous,_  
_Would you be scared?..."_

* * *

Hunk stretched his shoulders briefly, readying himself for their daily training session. He had hoped that yesterday’s pirate fiasco would earn them a day off, but no such luck.

“Leave your bayards,” Shiro ordered, making Hunk pause. But they usually always had them when they fought the Gladiator. Unless this was that stupid maze again. Of course, granted, Hunk might rather face the maze than more fighting… At least right now.

Lance rubbed his eyes like it could erase the sleep. “This isn’t the maze, is it?” he groaned, thinking the same thing he was.

And if the sour faces of the rest of the paladins (sans Shiro, of course) were anything to go by, they felt the same way. No one liked the maze.

“No,” Shiro replied coolly. “After what happened yesterday, I realized that we needed more experience against individual opponents, so no Gladiator today.” Hunk couldn’t help but shutter at the mention of that mission. It was a success, yes, but it was…messy. Just thinking about it again made Hunk want to lose his breakfast. And he _liked_ breakfast.

“So if we’re not going to go against the Gladiator, what are we going to fight?” Hunk asked. He always had the impression that the Altean training drone was supposed to simulate an individual opponent.

Shiro rolled his shoulders. “We’ll spar each other.”

He knows that Shiro is trying to mix it up—pit them against fighting styles they weren’t used to—but Hunk can’t help but think that he got the short end of the stick. Keith and Pidge were fighting, and Lance was pitted against Allura, and while _that_ was terrifying, Hunk was faced with fighting _Shiro._

Going into this, he was really starting to comprehend just how _little_ hand-to-hand experience he had. Everything was less intimidating when he was the one behind the giant gun. “Bend your knees slightly and stay on your toes,” Shiro coached, getting into a similar position. “And be ready for anything.”

Hunk nodded mutely and tried to mirror his position. He was trying to figure out just how much he was supposed to bend his knees when he saw Shiro already moving. He yelped in surprise, bringing up his shield to deflect Shiro’s attack, but Shiro dropped down and kicked his legs from under him.

“Good, but you have to keep moving,” Shiro continued, helping Hunk to his feet.

When they went at it again, Hunk tried—he really did. But he couldn’t even begin to think about going anywhere over the thumping of his chest, much less any counter-attack. Shiro dove forward, and Hunk leaped out of the way, but the older man was rolling to his feet before Hunk could do any more than to bring up his shield. How was he even supposed to fight Shiro? Not only was the Black Paladin far more skilled than he was, but Hunk didn’t want to hurt him by accident.

Although, Shiro didn’t seem to have the same qualms as he threw a left hook at Hunk’s stomach, sending him sprawling to the ground. He just narrowly missed Shiro’s foot as he clumsily rolled to the side.

Shiro didn’t seem to have much qualms about anything, if what happened yesterday was anything to go by.

Hunk knew that they were the defenders of the universe, and that meant stopping the bad people. But they were the good guys, and good guys were supposed to be… _good._ Skewering people was bad. But… Hunk understands what they do, and he knows that its necessary, but its tough to swallow.

Not as tough for Shiro, apparently.

“Stay focused,” Shiro warned as he swung at Hunk’s shoulder. The blow struck, and Hunk tumbled, lurching forward at Shiro more by mistake than anything else.

He tried to make the most of it, and used his shield as a battering ram as he tackled the older man, forcing him backwards. “Good!” he praised, as Shiro took the brunt of the hit.

Hey, he actually did something! “I guess I’m not _that_ bad at— _oof!”_ Shiro took advantage of his position and swept his boot under Hunk’s, grabbing his ankle and leveraging it against him.

“Don’t let your guard down—you can’t stop until you are _sure_ that your opponent is _incapacitated._ ”

Like when they were dead.

Shiro didn’t give Hunk much time to think this through—which was probably the point of the exercise—because he was pulling Hunk up by his leg, causing him to flail as suddenly the ground was farther away than he would have liked. Hunk swung his body and grabbed Shiro’s thigh, toppling the man over by thrusting his weight on top of Shiro. The two rolled on the ground, and Hunk tried to drive an elbow into Shiro’s sternum before the man could attack him. However, Shiro was able to absorb the blow remarkably well, and twisted underneath, pulling Hunk under him.

Steel fingers cut through the air, and Hunk pulled at the arm that was holding him desperately. No, no, he needed to _get out._ His throat was exposed; Shiro was going to—

The hand stopped at his throat demonstratively, but Hunk had already squeezed his eyes shut, heart thumping rapidly in his chest.

The weight left him suddenly as Shiro scrambled away, back to his feet. Hunk opened his eyes, and Shiro was staring at him like his armor just burned him. Right. This was just a training exercise. Not a real fight.

Hunk just hadn’t realized how _terrifying_ Shiro was before this.

“That’s enough for today,” Shiro said thickly. “Go clean up.” The Black Paladin turned on his heel and disappeared from the room before anyone could say anything.

* * *

 _"...I get the feeling just because_  
_Everything I touch isn't dark enough_  
_That this problem lies in me..."_

* * *

 

Keith watched as Shiro practically ran from the room, and swung his gaze to where he had been with Hunk. The Yellow Paladin was wide-eyed, and looked a little shaken, guilt written on his face.

Something had happened, and Shiro was in no hurry to address it.

“I don’t know what, he just—” Hunk stammered, head hanging. “I think I overacted, and—”

He wasn’t the only one.

Keith grabbed a towel and stalked out of the room. Sure enough, Shiro was nowhere in sight. And not in the washroom either. As he showered off, Keith couldn’t help but think back to when he first met Shiro.

Even when Keith had been a distant and moody thirteen-year-old, Shiro had been bent on talking to him. He would sit beside him at meals, offer to lend his stuff, or drive him places. Takashi Shirogane was nothing if not persistent. Eventually, that summer, Shiro managed to get him to open up. He was the first person in a long time to treat him like a friend, and the only one that Keith considered a brother. Shiro was the guy that made him address his feelings, and comforted him when he was down.

He was the reason Keith applied to the Garrison.

When he first got there as a fourteen-year-old newbie—all cadets had to undergo three years of paper-training before the real stuff—he had been afraid that the senior cadet wouldn’t want to be seen with him. But not Shiro. Shiro would set aside time and spend it with Keith, social expectations be damned. He was clingy that way, and as annoying as it was, Keith came to appreciate it.

Not even graduation could separate them. But Kerberos did.

Keith had thought that he had lost Shiro forever, for a time. He grasped at straws and gathered every clue, holed up in that little cabin that Shiro had bought, and hoped beyond hope that it couldn’t be true. When Keith had miraculously found Shiro in that spacecraft crash, he didn’t question it, and thanked his lucky stars that they had brought his brother back to him.

Except Takashi Shirogane never really came back. Keith hadn’t wanted to think about it, or believe it to be true, but the Shiro who returned wasn’t the one who left to pilot the Kerberos mission.

He was more distant, quieter. This wasn’t the Shiro that talked about feelings—this one ran from them. And while Keith was the last person to judge him for it, it was disconcerting. Shiro was supposed to be the better one. The whole one.

It hurt to see him this broken.

Keith’s room was next to Shiro’s; even if the older man didn’t want to address it, Keith could hear him toss and turn in the night. He didn’t know quite how much sleep Shiro was getting, but it had to be less than even Keith got. And Keith could say with certainty that he didn’t have the best sleeping habits himself.

Once, Keith had accidentally surprised Shiro when he entered the room—and got body-slammed for his efforts. Shiro had apologized, of course, and had disappeared for the rest of the day. Keith tried not to think too much about it; they were all wound up. But Shiro had a very distinctive reaction—to go for the throat. He never really thought about it before, but Shiro’s instinct whenever something unknown approached him was to kill it. Keith had to wonder just _what_ Shiro had experienced.

What he had done.

Shiro had gone through hell, and while Keith was proud that he handled it better than any other human could, it still left behind a good share of bruises and nightmares that had chipped away at that optimistic soul that Keith had met five years ago.

And it left something dark in its place.

There really was no changing what had been done—what Shiro had done. It was ugly, it was dark, but it was the truth. Maybe he had spent too long ignoring it, but now, it was unmistakable.

As Keith left the washroom, he had a pretty good idea of where Shiro might have gone, and headed off in that direction. He had to come to grips that Shiro had been changed by his time as a Galra prisoner—as a Galra _gladiator—_ and not in the innocuous way any of them had futilely hoped. But he was still Shiro—still his brother. Nothing could ever change that.

And maybe it was Keith’s turn to be there for _him_.

* * *

 _"...I'm only a man with a candle to guide me,_  
_I'm taking a stand to escape what's inside me._  
_A monster, a monster,_  
_I've turned into a monster."_

\- "Monster" by Imagine Dragons

* * *

 

He had scared Hunk. Shiro had seen enough to know terror in the eyes when he saw it. And he had seen that look directed towards him—at him—countless times. But Shiro never thought that he would inflict that on his _friends._

But that was just what Shiro had become.

A monster.

_Champion._

**You are troubled, cub.** Black’s voice was a welcome and sturdy presence in his mind, though her alarm was noticeable as he all but ran into her hangar. Even though Shiro was sure she knew what happened before he got there.

He leaned against her massive paw, sliding down to sit on the ground. She bent her head lower to him, shifting her mechanical body closer to him. It wasn’t perfect—it wasn’t the kind of movement she could manage when she was in the Inbetween—but it was something. Comforting.

“They’re scared of me.” He wasn’t blind. Shiro had noticed the way the other paladins had watched them, ever since yesterday. Warily. Worriedly. Like he was something that could strike at any moment. It was something he was used to back in the arena—a part of him relished it, even, that the Galra had enough sense to be scared of him—but it wasn’t something Shiro wanted here. He was supposed to protect the other paladins—not intimidate them.

But that was what he had done. In protecting them, he showed them his darker side.

 **They’re startled, yes.** Black couldn’t contradict him, because he wasn’t wrong. **But they don’t hate you,** she added softly.

Shiro studied his prosthetic. He could see clearly how it had been used to maim and kill, over and over again. He had done things that no human in their right mind wouldn’t see as _bad._ Monstrous, even. The other paladins, while not innocent, were _pure._ Well, maybe not entirely, but in comparison. They didn’t have blood on his hands like he did.

“They might. If not now, then sometime.” No one loved a killer.

And he couldn’t even regret it. Shiro knows that if he walked in there and showed remorse over his actions, that they will forgive him. A poor, washed-up, former prisoner of the Galra got that kind of leeway, he thought bitterly. But he couldn’t. Because Shiro knows that when it came down to it, and any one of his teammates were threatened, he would kill again in a heartbeat. Shiro would tear out their throats, choke their hearts, and he would _enjoy it._

That was what scared him the most.

 **You saved them,** Black gently reminded him. **You cannot change what happened to you, or what you are, but you can choose what you become—you chose to be a paladin, and that is what a paladin does: _protect._**

He had to smile at Black’s usual brand of sensible comfort. “Thanks. But that doesn’t change what I did to them. They’re just _kids,_ Black. They shouldn’t have seen that. They shouldn’t have to share my nightmares.” They shouldn’t have to be in this war in the first place, but that couldn’t be changed. The least Shiro could do was keep them sane—whole. Unbroken. But it seemed he was failing.

Shiro inflicted fear. He was good at it. Because deep down, there was a monster inside of him, and it kept him alive. It kept him alive as a gladiator, and it kept him and the paladins alive when split-second decisions in battles came in play. Even if there was a better option, there wasn’t always time for it—not when Shiro’s mind was roaring with adrenaline. Maybe, he could have incapacitated those pirates, but he didn’t. Killing them was easier—faster—and just maybe, the world would be the better for it.

He knows the other paladins don’t see it that way. They inspire hope—an optimistic and bright view that believes the world can be bettered. Shiro has seen too much of the universe’s darkness to believe that way, and Shiro can’t help but to think that this will create an irreparable divide between them. Shiro couldn’t wipe the blood from his hands—and he wouldn’t stop if it meant letting his friends get hurt. And he was afraid that the other paladins, as well as Coran and Allura, wouldn’t see past it.

Shiro was the Black Paladin, yes, but he was dangerous.

“Shiro? You in here?” a voice called.

Black shifted traitorously, revealing her paladin beneath her. Keith came into view, peering awkwardly around the doorway. He saw him, and walked over to Shiro without a word, sitting down close enough so that they were touching elbows. Shiro could only stare. Keith was not a confrontational type, and he wasn’t much of a talker. So what was he doing here? Shiro grimaced at the possibilities. He wouldn’t leave a dangerous man unsupervised, either.

“You, uh, worried us back there,” Keith said finally.

Shiro couldn’t help but to flinch. He didn’t think that anything different had happened.

“No, not like that!” Keith back-pedaled. “You just…ran off. Everyone’s fine, but…are you?” He looked at him earnestly with violet eyes. Shiro remembers sitting Keith down, in a similar manner as this, back at the home—after Keith had skipped three meals. And this time, he was Keith and Keith was him. And if that didn’t rub in how much Shiro failed at being the responsible one, the one that held the rest together…

 _I’m fine._ The words were at the tip of his tongue; an easy lie. But they stuck in his throat. Black nudged him in his mind, her support evident. “I scared Hunk.” Shiro couldn’t look at Keith. “I—I’m not who you think I am. I’m—” _I’m dangerous._

Keith pulled his lip downward, disapproving and incredulous. “Shiro, I know. And I don’t care.”

Shiro blinked. Keith made no correction, but there was no acknowledgement. He simply sat there, eyes earnest, in true stubborn-Keith fashion. He wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what Shiro was. (There was a feeling of smugness from Black, which Shiro ignored.)

“Keith, I—”

“ _There_ you are!” Lance burst into the hangar, the rest of the Voltron crew in tow. “We thought you were trying to avoid us for a second there.” Lance had the amazing ability to act like nothing was wrong, and as the Latino teen strolled up to him, all grins and normality, Shiro didn’t seem to mind.

Hunk fidgeted behind Lance, and Shiro felt dread coil in his gut. He had to apologize, he had to—

“I’m sorry, Shiro,” Hunk began, beating Shiro to it. “I, uh, didn’t mean to startle you.”

He stared at the teen, speechless. Hunk was apologizing to _him?_ He wasn’t the one who put the fear into the eyes of his teammate. “Hunk, I should be the one apologizing. I should have never…”

“I think what Hunk is trying to say,” Lance cut in, “is that we shouldn’t have been so...” The group exchanged glances, proving that there had been a prior discussion. Shiro frowned. He wasn’t made of glass—they could get to their point. “…jumpy,” Lance finally finished. “You saved our butts—my butt—out there. We wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for you. End of story.”

“We know that you don’t want to talk about…what happened,” Hunk spoke cautiously. “And we get that, really. But we’re still here for you, man.”

“Shiro.” Coran laid a hand on his shoulder, and when Shiro was worried he would find hesitance or disgust, he found only understanding in the Altean’s gaze. “We don’t expect what you’ve been through to disappear overnight. And we don’t fault you for anything. You’ve taken what you were given—those skills and experiences—and you know what you made with them? A hero. A true paladin.” Coran squeezed him around the shoulder, and Shiro was very much reminded that Coran shared the Altean strength.

He swept his gaze across the others, and found acceptance. Lance was the next to hug him, then Hunk and Allura. Even Pidge and Keith squeezed in.

They didn’t fault him for it; they didn’t ask him to get better. They merely accepted Shiro for what he was.

Yes, Shiro knew that it would still startle them, to see him kill. It would bother anybody. And Shiro would try to shield them from it, best he could—to refrain. But the teens were paladins now, and they together were Voltron. There was an unspoken agreement that they would do whatever it takes to protect the universe and its integrity. No matter what.

Shiro may not be who he was, but it didn’t matter; the people who did matter, didn’t care. He couldn’t change the past. He couldn’t wipe the blood from his hands. He may be a broken man with a monster buried inside, but he was loved—he had friends. A family.

And that made all the difference.

* * *

A monster can be capable of great things, if only he stops thinking himself a monster, but rather, realizes that he can be a hero.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp. There you go! That's my take on this, at least. I would love for the show to explore this more--because Shiro is definitely coming back. Right? Right?
> 
> I'm equally terrified and excited for August 4th (Season 3). Help.


End file.
